


Victor and the Life Jar

by Sherya



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Emotions, Fluff, Love, M/M, One Shot, Victor's POV, i suck at tags sorry, just a sketch, one tiny paragraph of suggested sex, short and sweet, told you I suck at tags.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-20 18:57:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11341374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherya/pseuds/Sherya
Summary: Story from Victor's POV from the season, Victor has an important decision that he has to make regarding himself and Yuuri.





	Victor and the Life Jar

Victor is…trembling and unsure.

It has come down to this moment, this decision and he is shaking. Such an important moment and a decision to make, and his mind shows a brief glimpse of his Life-Jar as he stands there, wanting to charge forward, terrified to do so.

A friend had given him a jar once, full of rocks. He had raised his eyebrows questioningly, half a smile on his lips. “What is this?” and she had told him about the Life-Jar. She had gone on to explain it was a comparison of life to a jar of rocks. There were large ones taking up space as the big events, and medium ones too to show the more routine things, with the pebbles and sand filling up around them- the small moment to moment things, making a life complete. Making it all you needed, to make it just right. To make it Your Life and worth living.

He had not really understood the point behind the gift, although he had thanked her for it. And he had kept it, taking up space on his bookshelf. He would take it down sometimes and look at the rocks, tilting it in the light streaming in from the window, or shining from the lamp. Some sparkled with hints and bits of minerals that he couldn’t name. Some beautiful with their natural colors flaring through them, others smooth as glass, nature had kindly and lovingly gave them a high polished shine. And the pebbles, tiny pieces of sand that were light and clear like bits of unrefined sugar, fine and filling all the gaps.

He would look at his life-jar sometimes and frown.

Before he had been fine. Victor Nikiforov, five time world champ, there was nothing he couldn’t do on the ice. No challenge he couldn’t overcome with ease. Heady stuff, when he was younger and hungry, fighting to be at the top, The Best.

Years passed and it changed little by little. The championships and triumphs, these had been his large rocks, these one-time accomplishments that had become commonplace. Still wonderful in the moment, but the moment was lost and then it was just another big rock he had collected.

The next competition, the next meeting with sponsors, the next interview, the next photoshoot. Becoming meaningless. Stale.

 In between those times there had been practice, rehearsing, skating and then more practice, rehearsing, skating, until he was worn to the bone, until he would fall asleep dreaming of practicing his routines and his muscles would twitch and move as if still on the ice, even though he was lying down to rest. These were the medium sized rocks, the work and the toil. All things that he was accustomed to, he was a slave to the ice and did not regret that choice made so long ago.

In between that, there were the pebbles. And the pebbles were a lonely apartment, solitary meals. Falling asleep with the television on, watching but not seeing, hearing but not understanding. Noise to fill the too-empty rooms of his flat. Lying in his bed and looking at the ceiling, unblinking, unable to sleep and feeling empty. Makka was there, of course, his girl, his baby. She was a consolation for the quiet and the grueling routine, and he was so grateful for her. But he knew that there should be more, well… _there_.

He had watched skaters come and go, wonderful athletes with ambitions that blazed and blades cutting through the ice with beauty and strength, and achievement, but those skaters had eventually retired due to injury, age, or just moving on to the next level-marriage, children; family. Until last year- he didn’t really care, almost sorry for them to be pulled away from the ice, like banishment. But now-

Things had changed. He would walk late at night, aimlessly through his neighborhood, looking up at the windows, some dark, some lit. All of them with life inside. He would sometimes catch a glance of people in their windows, and he would wonder. One window in particular fascinated him, as the people lives seemed to unfold right there, always sitting or talking to each other, smiling, laughing, any time he walked by. That man and woman-were they lovers? Married? Did they sit and have dinner together and talk about their day? Hold hands on the sofa watching TV or reading books and laughing into each other’s faces when one told a joke or a funny story? Tease each other for little things until they were small rituals, or have little arguments over domestic chores? When they went to bed at night, was each other’s face the last thing they would see as they drifted off; holding each other, faces mere inches away, love being transmitted through that tiny space of air between them? Then wake in the morning to each other, and do it all again?

It became routine, this couple and their window, just looking up for a few seconds at night. He found himself sending well-wishes up to that window when he walked by.  He hoped that they would always be happy. It was absurd but he hoped that for them all the same.

Then last year happened.

Another competition, another gala, and then another banquet. Not much different, really.

After the competition, standing with Yuri, listening to Yakov growl and lecture, and out of the corner of his eye he caught movement, a bit of blue jacket and eyes that were staring. He turned and asked the person gazing at him if he wanted a photo, only to see the brown eyes widen, full of sadness-and disappointment? The boy turned abruptly, and in a flash of recognition he realized too late this had been a fellow competitor. Victor felt both confused and ashamed. Why had he ran away? Katsuki Yuuri, he knew of him, but he had never seen this man (not boy although that had been his first impression) look like this. Japan’s Ace, he was called. Always quiet, aloof. An enigma. He didn’t fall in with the other athletes and kept to himself. Victor always figured him for a cool customer, self-contained and uninterested in socializing. Dedicated to the ice-not unlike himself in that way. But the face he had seen tonight was different; tragic. It was obvious that he had been crying, his eyes red rimmed and haunted as he looked at Victor. What had he wanted from Victor? Had he missed something? As he watched Yuuri walking away, walking out the door of the venue, he wondered. Yuuri Katsuki expression becoming complete and utter sorrow, and that stayed with Victor, turning over and over in his mind.

Then the banquet. Banquets were boring. Predictable, it was the time that athletes would meet with officials, sponsors, other athletes. Have polite conversation, polite food and drink, and if someone became drunk or daring enough, maybe a polite fuck in a dark side room, bathroom stall or deserted hallway. Victor wasn’t a prude, but he didn’t indulge in this, figuring out long ago that people at these places didn’t want _him,_ they wanted Victor-Nikiforov-the-ice-skating-champion- and the thrill just wasn’t there.

Mostly he just wanted to have it done and over so he could leave and take off his official Victor-Nikiforov professional mask. But this banquet, well, it was different, because he had noticed him almost right away. His coach guiding him into the room, the dark haired man with eyes downcast, shoulders slumped inwards, arms hugging himself, as if he wanted to shrink smaller and smaller and disappear. Victor found his eyes scanning the room for him all night, in between shaking hands and chit-chat and fake smiles. He had watched Yuuri drink. And drink. And drink. He had meant to go talk to him but someone would always interrupt him or guide him to another conversation.

Then he lost track of him for a bit, only to hear the commotion and wander over to see Yuuri with his tie loosened, jacket off and _dancing_. A dance off with small Yuri, and Victor was entranced all over again as he seemed like a completely different man. To call it dancing was not describing it correctly. Victor had not seen anyone move like this before; like he was born to do it, like it was effortless. Yuuri smiled, laughed, teased the other dancers. Then he and Chris pole dancing of all things and Victor took in every graceful hard line of muscle that Yuuri was displaying as he posed, bathed in sweat and champagne until he was glistening, every movement sexy and commanding and deliberate. _Try and look away_ , he was saying with his body and his eyes. _Just try, and good luck with that._

Then Yuuri was holding out his hand to Victor, smiling wide, eyes warm and inviting and there was no way in hell Victor would say no, he couldn’t... He had whirled, spun, and he had _danced_ with this beautiful man, giving as good as he was getting, or trying to at least.

Yuuri’s hands at his waist, his shoulders, holding him as they spun and dipped, Victors arms wrapping around Yuuri, hands sliding up to his shoulder blades, hanging on for dear life and hoping that it wouldn’t stop.  He was enchanted and delighted, his laughter bubbling and a smile on his face that couldn’t be pried away. Later, Yuuri suggestively rocking his hips and radiating warmth and desire, asking Victor to be his coach, practically begging, beautiful brown eyes with gold flecks and little hints of other colors, looking up and pleading with such honesty and need. Victor had been in the clouds at that point, high above everyone else in the room floating and flattered and aroused, excited, and not giving a damn what anyone thought at the banquet, officials or sponsors or anyone. He had been teased and flirted with, hugged and touched, tantalized by the most captivating man he had ever had the chance to meet.

Yuuri had eventually surrendered to the drink and the effort of the dancing, nodding on his feet, slurring in his native language, Victor had helped him back to his room. Yuuri had hit the bed asleep and Victor had stood back and looked at him, taking in the fact that Yuuri Katsuki was marvelous when he slept, his hands tucked under his cheeks and his dark lashes fanning under his eyes, and thoughts of seeing Yuuri again filling his mind and making him float back to his own room in a haze of both satisfaction and want.

And then.

And then.

Nothing. Silence.

Victor had reckoned, eventually, that it had been only one night of flirting and fun, after all. Yuuri Katsuki had _seemed_ so interested, and then there had been silence. At first, Victor had been tempted to contact him, but he wasn’t as confident off the ice as he was on it, and harbored unvoiced suspicions that maybe he wasn’t that likeable-that he wasn’t enough, off the ice. He was used to people wanting the champion, and just as used to people not wanting him for just himself. He had kept busy, and months wore on. The silence continued. Victor’s hopes fell, eventually dimming down to nothing, and when he thought of Yuuri it was with a twinge of sadness and disappointment.

Victor would look at his Life-Jar and frown, then move on to the next thing that life demanded.

One day, he received a text. WATCH THIS! NOW! From one of his friends. He followed the link on his phone, sitting on the couch with Makka close, and as he realized what he was seeing, something in his stomach gave a sharp tug. Someone was skating to his routine. Skating it beautifully. There was no music on the video, and the figure was slightly heavier than he remembered but there was no mistaking Yuuri Katsuki. Not the tragic Yuuri from the Grand Prix. Not the amazing confident demon/angel from the banquet. This was a Yuuri that was intense and thoughtful, skating a story of heartfelt yearning. And he was absolutely nailing it. Victor’s heart had lept with joy, his mind filled with a thousand and one possibilities, he was gobsmacked. He furiously researched, and he had found out that Yuuri did not have a coach anymore. Was he even going to compete? And why did he skate this routine? It had to be a call to Victor-what else would this be? Victor remembered Yuuri begging him to be his coach. Victor watches the video again and again, seeing all of this natural talent, Yuuri making music with his body, making so much more than a program, it was a revelation.

He was calling to Victor to be his coach. He was calling to Victor to be…something more?

Victor looked up at his Life-Jar. And Victor had made a decision.

He had gone to be with Yuuri, to coach him, and befriend him. And maybe he could someday, if he was patient, be more. He had worked with Yuuri every day, helping him, guiding him, being frustrated and entranced at the same time because he wanted to be closer to him, wanted to draw Yuuri in and hoard him like a miser, Yuuri running away and avoiding Victor over and over again, driving Victor to his figurative knees.

Yet

Victor had hung in there, determined. And he had been rewarded as Yuuri had slowly opened, like a flower blooming, petals unfurling to expose his center. Letting him in, allowing Victor to be closer, closer, even closer.

That day on the beach when Yuuri had told him he only wanted Victor to be himself. That had been stupefying for Victor-another revelation- no one had wanted Victor to just be. What did that even mean? He honestly didn’t know. Victor had turned this over in his mind, and made another decision, he took off the mask for good when he was with Yuuri. Trusted Yuuri to understand the man behind it.

He had entered into Yuuri’s world and found such a rich life full of family and friends who truly cared about him. It made Victor wistful and long to have something like Yuuri had. But Victor was contented to just take up a corner of that space in Yuuri’s world. It had taken months of hard work, months of gently and patiently waiting for Yuuri. Yuuri who was beautiful inside and out. Yuuri who had a compliment for everyone. Yuuri who expected nothing from anyone in return for his kindness. Yuuri, who had a pure sweet soul. Yuuri.

And it had all led to this.

Victor trembling, his lips were tingling from kissing, cheeks flushed with warmth, and a few inches in front of him stood Yuri with a question on his lips and in his eyes. _Would you please?_ Yuuri finally asking. And awaiting Victors answer.

Victor thought about his Life-Jar, just for a moment. And made the decision that would be a leap of faith. A decision that would weigh heavily for both of them. There was no going back from here, and Victor knew it.

He carefully, slowly raised his trembling hands and stroked Yuuri’s cheek. Yuuri’s eyes were starry, they drifted closed and he sighed, leaning into Victors touch. Victor caught his breath and marveled at the fact that Yuuri Katsuki was finally here with him, finally willing to cross that bridge too. Victor’s hands moved to Yuuri’s hair, cradling his head and pulling him closer. Yuuri pliant and willing, his arms coming up to encircle Victor’s waist, hesitant and light, barely there.

Victor was trembling with fear and want, this was epic, huge. And he didn’t want to make a mistake. He knew that Yuuri was innocent, he knew that Yuuri trusted him to make this just right. He was determined to make Yuuri his own by showing him how much he loved him.

And then, Victor was lost, and drowning, and happy to be so.

The next morning, Victor awoke to the feel of a warm weight on his chest, hip, legs. He opened his eyes, looks at the ceiling, unblinking, and then looked down at the man he loved laying there, hand curled up underneath his cheek, head on his shoulder, breathing evenly. Victor touched Yuuri’s hair, stroked it with his fingers. Yuuri snuggled even closer, and with a gentle sigh, Yuuri’s arm reached out and around Victor’s chest, holding fast, burying his head in Victors neck.

Victor had never, never been so happy about a decision that he had made in his whole life.

Victor has a Life-Jar, has had it for a while. Now when he walks by it he reaches out and touches the glass with a contented smile. The largest rock, the one that sparkles the most in the light, the one with the most beautiful colors twisting through it has been etched with letters, spelling out the most important part of his life. The part that makes his life just right, just the way he wants it. The part that makes it perfect.

_Yuuri._

**Author's Note:**

> Just a one-shot with an idea that would explain things from Victor's point of view, and how his Life-Jar led him to it. The Life-Jar idea is not new or original; but to me fascinating. How many decisions have people made after being told the story behind it, decisions that would not have been made without the Life Jar prompting them?
> 
> And I am head over heels for this anime so I thought I would combine the two.


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